Page 6 of Isaia

She gives Luna’s leash a gentle tug, still smiling. “Come on, menace. Let's leave this poor guy alone.” Then she turns back to me, that grin never leaving her face. “But, hey, if you ever need a repeat performance, you know where to find us.”

I slide my hands into my jacket pockets. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her outfit shouldn’t grab my attention, but damn, it does. That flowy green dress, clinging just enough in the right places, the scarf draped over her shoulders, bringing out this casual, laid-back vibe.

But it’s more than that.

It’s how she wears it—like she doesn’t have to try, like she knows she looks good but isn’t bothered about it. Those boots, too. The suede clings around her legs just right, giving her a relaxed, easy-going energy.

The whole look is simple but somehow magnetic, and yeah, I’m noticing.

She gives a small wave, leading Luna off, and I’m still standing there like an idiot when I suddenly blurt out, “Hey?”

She turns.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Another smile forms as she continues walking backward. “Drink with a stranger? That would be reckless of me, don’t you think?”

“Your dog seems to like me.”

She shrugs. “Even so. Besides, I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who stays a stranger for long.” She gives Luna’s leash another tug. “Come on, girl. We’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”

I watch them walk away, her dog strutting like it just won something.

For a second, I almost laugh at the absurdity. I don’t get knocked off balance. But this? This felt different. Like I just walked out of one world and into another.

And that’s what bugs me.

Chapter 2

ISAIA

Ifollow her.

Not because I’m a psychotic stalker. Suspicion is second nature for us. Threats hide everywhere, waiting like landmines. One wrong step, and everything blows up.

She pulls out her phone, eyes glued to the screen as she strolls. Those eyes—the most beautiful imperfection I’ve ever seen.

Maybe she’s just some woman who lost control of her dog. Or maybe she’s a mole. A spy for our enemies.

Or a cop.

Her fingers move over her phone too easily, like she’s waiting for a signal. Cops are good at that—blending in until it’s time to strike.

Her eyes linger on a passerby just a second too long—subtle, but I notice. People like me always do. Her attention snaps back to her phone, too fast, like she’s hiding something.

I stay close, shadowing her from a distance. She moves like she belongs—like the world bends for her. Luna’s leash dangles from her hand, the dog trotting alongside, tail wagging.

Everly. That’s what she says her name is. It could be a lie. It could all be an act—this quirky girl with a dog who thinks it’s a wrestler. I’ve learned not to trust first impressions.

Her steps are light, almost bouncing as she heads into the safer part of town. Smart.

I expect her to glance over her shoulder. A normal woman would. Her eyes flicker with curiosity, but not caution. Either she’s too oblivious, too lighthearted to notice danger, or she knows she’s protected by whoever the fuck she works for.

I stay far enough behind to avoid suspicion but close enough to keep her within my sight.

As she walks past a street vendor, she pauses to run her fingers absentmindedly over the cheap jewelry on display before moving on.

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